


Firsts

by usabuns



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: And His New Family, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Immediately Post Cell Saga, In Which Vegeta Contemplates His New Life On Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5572399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usabuns/pseuds/usabuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bulma..." That's the first time she hears him call her by her name, the first time she even hears him say it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh hello again everyone! I wrote this piece for my lovely friend Kenzie's birthday last week, but I never got the chance to officially finish it until now. Happy late birthday to you!

"I'm surprised you decided to stay." She says it like it's a scientific observation that even the most ill-minded could notice. Her words are matter-of-fact, said in a cool tone of voice, yet there is a certain edge to how she says them that he can't quite place. It baffles him, how such simple-minded, weak creatures such as her can have so much depth and character. Quite shocking. She is still beneath him (that, he'll never let her forget), but there's a sense of significance, of arrogance, that lies behind her words. She sounds just like him. 

But somehow, there's not even a smile on her face as she says it, or even a smirk of victory, not even an inkling of emotion on her face. Stoic, silent; as if she is devoid of feeling. As if the statement means nothing to her, when it clearly does. The way she holds her child--their child--makes him feel as if she thinks she's better than him, simply because the baby is grasped firmly in her arms with such an importance. Like the child is the savior of the world, or the reincarnation of Kami himself. Considering what the child does in the future, though, he might as well be.

For a moment, he says nothing, just grinds his pristine, ivory boots on the tiled floor, gaze directed downwards. A deep scowl chisels his features, but it's clearly not out of anger or frustration. It implies something different: denial. This is his family. This is his home. But he refuses to admit it. And then, while crossing his arms defiantly, "...You are not completely useless to me, like the other Earthlings are."

He turns around on one heel and strides back to the gravity room with the slightest bit of a fresh blush forming on his cheeks. 

It's the kindest thing he's ever said to her.

+++

You have something to fight for other than yourself.

The thought dawns upon him one day as he's lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He hasn't realized it until now, hasn't fully accepted it as the reason why he's become so strong. Now there is something else that gives him strength; something that is much more powerful than his pride. Family. People to protect. 

Could this be the secret to surpassing Kakarot? The notion makes him shudder with excitement. Perhaps simply having people that you loved could give you infinite power. Perhaps that was why he couldn't beat him before. When Kakarot returns--oh, Vegeta knows all too well that somehow he will manage to--will he finally best him? Day in and day out, he'd have to train, to better himself. To prepare for his arrival. To be stronger than a puny low-class fighter. 

An elite warrior such as himself could waste no time doing worthless things like these Earthlings do. Even if he now had family to care for, even if that family was the source of his power, he could not bide his time in waiting. Knowing the clown, he was probably training as well. It wouldn't be beneficial to fall behind--

\--Footfall. He hears them approaching his door, pattering down the hallway. They are unmistakable. She has a bad habit of constantly disturbing his resting time, usually for menial, pointless reasons. He braces himself for the worst: for the door to slam open, for another lecture on how he should spend more time with Trunks, for shouts about all the mistakes he's made today, but no such things come.

Instead, the footsteps stop, right in front of his door, and she lingers for a bit, shifting her weight on each leg. As if contemplating her options. At this, he quirks a brow, pulling the sheets up over his neck. Best to fake slumber, he decides; she's more likely to spit out the truth if she feels like she's wasting his precious time with coming here. 

A knock. It is reluctant, unsure. "Vegeta...?" Strangely, her voice is a squeak, just barely audible even though the night is silent, save for the gentle humming of machinery below the floor. He quirks another brow. She's not usually this timid, especially with him. A grunt, a shift of blankets as he sits up, scowl on his face. He could pretend to be annoyed, but the truth of the matter was that he would never be angry to see her, even if she happened to deter his restless thoughts and promise of a sweet slumber. 

"What? What's so important that you've found the need to invade my living space?" A bit colder than necessary; she looks visibly put off by the statement. Eyebrows upturned, her face blank, hands folded neatly across her nightgown's front. Her attire is horribly over sized; only now can he truly grasp how small and delicate she is compared to him. It is odd not to see the brat in her arms; he has become a sort of accessory that he expects to always see attached to her in some form or another. So her predicament was truly serious, then. 

"S-Sorry, I..." Without him even permitting her entrance, she steps over the threshold as if he didn't need to allow her in in the first place. This gets him to sit up further, to let the covers cascade down his muscles so they rest, crumpled, at his waist, and he crosses his arms just for the sake of doing so. The door is shut carefully, quietly, and with a sigh of relief on her lips. She clutches her arms tightly around her chest and breasts, and then sinks to the floor so she's resting on her knees. 

And she cries. "Why did it have to be you... Why do I love you?" They're mumblings, ramblings, in between choked sobs. There's no one left for her to talk to, so now she's decided to go to him with her problems. She has, stupidly, decided to go to the person causing her problems to find relief from them. Earthlings are so foolish. 

Perhaps she assumes he can't hear her words, or that he doesn't care, but both of those assumptions just so happen to ring false. The weight of the moment comes crashing down on him, reality sinks in. This woman--the woman he loves, the most daring Earthling he's ever met--is sobbing on his bedroom floor and cursing the day she ever chose to love him of all people. That gets to him the most. But all he can muster to do is uncross his arms and let out a grunt. 

Pride. It's your pride that's holding you back. 

The thought occurs to him as soon as he can hear her tears splatter to the floor, as soon as he realizes what a horrible person she must think he is. The pride of the Saiyans; it prohibits so much. It is the reason why he doesn't show her his love. It is the reason why, when she's crying on his floor, he won't even bat a single eyelash. 

That is why Kakarot is better than him. He saves his pride for the heat of battle, not every day life. He is not a complete monster like Vegeta is. He has humility, has an emotional side. 

Had, Vegeta reminds himself. That same Saiyan pride is precisely the reason why Kakarot is now permanently dead. It is also precisely the reason why their whole race has gone extinct. 

Without another thought, he rips the sheets off of himself, lifting the waistband of his boxers as he does so, and growls deeply, as if he is annoyed at going to comfort her. He stalks, still filled with pride and purpose even as he tries to repress a lifetime of being arrogant, across the floor, toes curling up from the cold. For a moment, she turns stiff and still, even though she does not look up from her hands. Crying ceases, like she is unbelieving of the current events unfolding. 

In one fluent motion, he comes to sit in front of her form, their knees touching. She is warm, soft, and comforts him more than he could ever comfort her. Everything seems to slow down and stop in that second alone; it's like they are the only people alive in all of the universe, as if they only exist for each other. 

And, to his surprise, she jumps into him, slinging her arms around his shoulders and crying into his chest. She's fully on top of him now; if it weren't for his Saiyan strength, she would've toppled him over with such a powerful leap. The only response the action gets out of him is an awkward pat on her back coupled with his arms pressing down lightly upon her form. Not too affectionate, not too uncaring. It was a perfect kind of harmony and balance between his two sides; he finds himself quite liking it. 

"Bulma..." He loves the way her Earthling name sounds on his tongue, the way it just rolls out of his mouth like fluid, as if he were waiting to say it all his life. It gives him shivers. No reaction is brought about from her, but he can tell that if the circumstances were different, she'd be teasing him endlessly. Perhaps that circumstance will come, though, and that thought alone prompts a smirk materialize upon his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I had an EXTREMELY hard time finding a title for this. So, if you have any better ones, feel free to leave suggestions in the comments! I hope you enjoyed this, & have a swell day!


End file.
